


Sleep

by sarahgene12



Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse (TV)
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Drinking & Talking, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 14:04:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8105251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahgene12/pseuds/sarahgene12
Summary: Endeavour Morse and Jim Strange have had a long day. They attempt to remedy this with wine. Friendly cuddling ensues.





	

“You’re sure this isn’t an intrusion?”  
Morse looked up from pouring the drinks. Strange stood just inside the doorway, practically filling it.   
He looked awkward, embarrassed, even, to find his colleague already dressed for bed.   
“Didn’t think you wore pajamas, really. Had you pegged for the type what falls asleep in his shoes.”  
Morse tried to smile at this, but he felt it came across more as a grimace. Truthfully, he had rather hoped to spend his early night off alone. It was the first moment of rest he’d had in a long time.   
But Strange had called on him only minutes after he’d unlocked his door, and he was already wobbly on his feet.   
He made a second attempt at a friendly smile. “No, no, not at all. It’s better than drinking alone, certainly. Here you are, then.”  
Strange took the offered glass, and raised it. “Cheers, matey!”  
Morse drained his own glass in a single swallow, immediately reaching for the bottle. Strange watched, but said nothing, even offering his own for a second.   
“Where did you get those, anyhow? They look warm.” He reached out and petted the sleeve. “Soft as baby’s cheeks, too. Nice.”   
Morse pulled at the collar of his shirt with the arm which wasn’t being coddled, feeling the whiskey pooling warmly in his stomach. “Yes, er, they were a gift. From, from Monica. She mailed them here after I got out. Back.” He quickly corrected himself, accidentally meeting Strange’s eyes, just for a second. The sergeant coughed, turning a bit red under the chin. Morse noticed he’d already finished his second drink.   
“Oh right. So you still hear from her then? Still write?”   
Morse shook his head, pouring more whiskey into his glass. “No, the package was the last. We—we’re not really. Hmm.” What he had been meaning to say escaped him.   
Strange sighed, slumping a bit lower in his seat. He’d taken the sofa, the only soft place to sit down in the whole flat. The wretched thing sagged, and it’d come secondhand, but the cushions held plenty of stuffing. And Strange had been right about one thing; there were plenty of nights the young detective came home and dropped himself lengthwise onto the very same, too beat to even remove his shoes.   
It was just wide enough for Morse, which meant the sergeant couldn’t have laid down properly without finding himself half on the floor.   
“I’ve got you there, matey. Havin’ a bit o’ bad luck with the birds myself, as of late. Or no luck, more like. None at all. Mind if I put my feet up?”   
Morse shrugged, feeling himself sway a little on his stool. He caught himself on the end table, and stood. The room tilted a little to the left. He watched Strange drop one large boot, then the other, onto his coffee table. A chipped and tea-stained mug rattled at the intrusion.   
“Have yourself a sitdown, then. We’ve still got most of a bottle, ay?”   
“I suppose so. Is there room?” Morse stared at his feet, watching them to make sure they maneuvered safely around the table. Once they had, he studied the space on the couch next to Strange.   
The sergeant grunted, patting the spot. “I don’t like what you’re implying there, matey! You sit down here, or I’ll finish this off m’self!”   
Feeling he had no choice but to comply, Morse sat, feeling squeezed and yet, oddly comfortable.   
“Pass me that glass then, and don’t crowd.” Strange filled each of their cups with two-fingers worth, and they downed them simultaneously.   
Then the sergeant shifted in his seat, apparently attempting to make a little more room. “Is this alright, then? I know I’m—well. I take up a fair amount of space, don’t I?”   
Morse turned his head, slowly, keeping it leaned back against the wall for support. Strange was flushed, and he supposed he must be as well. But his friend also looked troubled. So he scooted closer, until his shoulder was up under Strange’s arm, and their hips touched. He thought he heard the sergeant grunt softly with surprise.   
“Well, sure, yes you’re a bigger fellow, but so what? You’re a fantastic policeman, Jim. Size doesn’t matter, look at Bright!”  
This made Strange snort with laughter; Morse felt his belly wiggle, and suddenly felt very warm in his wool pajamas.  
“You’ve got that right, at least! Man’s hardly tall enough to ride the kiddie rides at the park, and he’s been in charge of all of us! That’s good, isn’t it? We could lose him if he got behind Thursday in the dark, ay?”  
Morse barked a laugh, surprising both of them; it soon dissolved into a quiet giggle, a sound Strange never expected to hear out of the ordinarily quiet, and quite prematurely solemn, detective.   
Then Morse sighed heavily, and leaned his head softly against the sergeant’s shoulder.   
“You alright? Morse?”   
“Mm. Mmhmm.”   
Strange chuckled, closing his eyes tight for a moment while the room spun. “Right. If—if you’re gonna go to sleep, mate, let me at least get a bit more comfortable, alright?”   
Almost certain he wasn’t going to get a coherent reply, he took ahold of Morse’s narrow shoulders and pushed him, gently.   
“Alright, now you—gimme a minute—here. Now lie down.” He’d positioned himself so that his shoulders lay halfway on the back of the couch, half on the armrest; legs out straight. When he let go of Morse, the skinny detective wriggled upwards, apparently too drunk to be embarrassed by the intimacy of the situation.   
With a steadying hand from Strange, Morse laid his head to rest on the sergeant’s slowly rising and falling chest; one arm snaked upwards to wrap around Jim’s neck, the other reached sleepily for the floor.   
It was a bit awkward, yes, and Morse was heavier than he looked. But the moment the young detective stilled, he fell asleep. Smiling a little, Strange followed him soon after.


End file.
